


how many fingers am i holding up?

by rojohbi



Category: China Illinois
Genre: F/M, self indulgent bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 02:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10265612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rojohbi/pseuds/rojohbi
Summary: “Pony? Tell me you didn’t drown.” Steve. So she wasn’t dead yet. There was something vaguely concerning about the lack of enthusiasm that came with the realization. The first attempt at speech she made ended up a wheezy groan, and she could hear Steve chuckling. If Pony were less dead to the world, she’d punch him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i binged two and a half seasons of this show and now im a mess
> 
> i have fics i should be working on i know im just. im. i like pony a lot
> 
> please enjoy i was supposed to be asleep three hours ago
> 
> EDIT 4/12/17: i just realized i uploaded..the rough draft......so anyways i fixed that here's the not as messy one :)

Pony woke up from a dreamless sleep to find herself dead. Not really, but pretty damn close if you asked her. She couldn't talk, couldn't see, and it felt like she was drifting through the void. A void with birds, though. And smelled like chlorine.

They had been celebrating, uh - shit. Well, Pony didn’t actually remember what they were celebrating. It might’ve (definitely) had something to do with Mayor, and a pigeon issue, and there was some kind of super glue-level adhesive that had stuck the sides of her middle and ring finger together. She moved her left hand around, trying to pull apart the digits for a solid minute before she realized it wasn’t just her brain forgetting how to function.

As her awareness of the world began to slowly move past the barrier of her skin, Pony felt water to her wrists, lapping against her calves. It almost, and probably should have, instilled a moment of panic in her chest, but a voice pulled her fleeting attention from the possibility of drowning in someone’s pool to the reality waiting beyond her heavy eyelids. 

“Pony? Tell me you didn’t drown.” Steve. So she wasn’t dead yet. There was something vaguely concerning about the lack of enthusiasm that came with the realization. The first attempt at speech she made ended up a wheezy groan, and she could hear Steve chuckling. If Pony were less dead to the world, she’d punch him.

“Ngh, fuck. No, not drowned. Not yet, anyways.” She finally cracked open her eyes but the sun was blinding and wasn’t worth the pain in her ass, so Pony returned herself to darkness, stayed blind and living in sun-warmed pool inflatable limbo.

“Very convincing. You’re gonna get a sunburn if you stay out like that.” Pony finally opened her eyes completely, still squinting but vision clearing slowly. Steve was there, lounging in a pool chair with a beer in each hand. The sun was glinting brightly off his bald spot, but she could see that he looked just as completely hungover as she was. It was sort of nice to see such a lax air about him - Steve was, if not posturing, then nigh constantly putting on some kind of face to get some kind of thing he wanted. But lounging on a pool chair, one arm slung over his eyes with a beer held limply in his fingers, she was sort of starting to understand the dad-part-uncle vibe. 

Or, she was still tremendously drunk. Either conclusion made sense.

Shifting carefully so as to sit up without upending the inflatable holding her aloft, Pony scrubbed at her face as if she could scrub the liquor right out of her system. “I’m Mexican, you dick,” she half-muttered, raking her nine fingers through her ratty hair. “We don’t sunburn like you pastey assed - No, your head’s a fuckin’ solar panel, dude. I’m not even gonna bother defending myself here.” He didn’t move, or make any loud enough reactions, but Pony could see the slight curve growing on Steve’s mouth with each moment. 

Dragging herself out of the pool was an endeavor. Bottles and cans of every kind were floating in the rippling pool water, Frank passed out and half-submerged with someone else’s pajamas on. It was a fuckin’ war zone, but it basically always was after celebrations with the Dean. Pony got herself to the shallow end before just biting the bullet and hopping into the cold water and doing her best attempt at running for the steps. She came out drenched to her middle with her t-shirt clinging in disgusting ways, her pants doing their best imitation of her memory - completely gone. Something was dripping down the middle of her back, cold and rhythmic, and Pony realized that her hair had sopped up half the goddamn pool in her attempt to escape it’s watery defines.

So, run down: Steve was lounging, Frank was most likely alive, BC was unknown, and her mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on toes for days on end. It was both horrible and ideal. 

“Those beers both for yourself?”

Steve opened one eye, arm slanting so he could block out the sun but still look at her. And he, uh, he sure did look at her. Pony realized that she was actively playing out thirty porno classics at once. Pantless and wet and ringing out her hair as she walked towards the beer. Steve, also, but. Mostly the beer.

While there was no way he didn’t notice the parallels of the encounter, Steve said nothing, just holding the beer out towards her.

Grabbing the beer from him felt like an agreement of some kind. Twisting off the cap and taking a swig of nasty-ass morning beer felt like her signature. 

Steve hadn’t moved or said a thing, and Pony just fit herself into the space left beside his chest on the chair. There wasn’t much room, and the water from her body soaked through his clothes quickly. Neither spoke, not to acknowledge the light glide of his fingers over her thigh or her hand’s tentative drift to Steve’s stubbled chin or half-open mouth. Her fingers bumped his lips, a jolt going through all of her as he brushed his nails over her inner thigh. He watched her intently. When her fingers passed his lips he dropped his jaw immediately to accommodate, tongue laving over the rough underside of her fingers. He sucked, just barely, the friction against her skin drawing a sigh out of her chest that she hadn’t felt coming. Tongue moving down again to press between her fingers, Steve - made. A. Really weird face. 

The superglue.

Right.

Pony yanked her hand back, burning red and maybe squirming a little where she sat. Christ. This was horrible. “I, uh, am not sure how those two ended up siamese-twin’d. Also not sure where we are. Or what happened. Or why it even happened in the first place, honestly.” Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t think about his mouth. “What time is it?”

“It’s ten o’clock on a fine Saturday morning. Now, Pony, I need you to do something for me.” Steve grinned at her, shit-eating and daring and far too smug for anything before noon. “I want you to stop being a fresher and get in my fucking lap.”

She…. Could not deny that.  
Pony chugged nearly half the bottle of swill then shifted to swing one leg over Steve’s lap, arms braced against the bars of the pool chair, and they met in the middle. It was awkward positioning at first, but once she got her tits under control and Steve wasn’t licking into her mouth like a rambunctious 16 year-old, it was good. It was really good.

It was _forget everything around you and hump like high schoolers_ good.

His thumbs were digging into her hips, her wet panties getting caught between her skin and his slacks with a glinting but irrelevant tweak of occasional pain. There was actually something thrilling about hangover clothed-riding Steve in the open, his hand already up her shirt and kneading a breast. Pony, not to ever be outdone and especially not by Steve, was trying her damndest to undo his belt when a sliding door opened nearby. They both froze, looking up slowly to see Baby Cakes just looking out onto the deck, barely seeming to register their mini-disaster among the many disasters scattering the deck. 

“Do we have to bury Frank?”

Pony slumped, letting her face press into the throat of a laughing Steve, whom she again considered punching. 

“No, Baby Cakes. He’s not dead.”

“Is he gonna be's a zombie? Ohhhh oh, I gotta make a fort! A zombie fort!” Pony could hear the sliding door slam shut hard enough that it slid back open a few inches, a familiar noise. She snorted into Steve'a throat, feeling around for her beer until he nudged it into her hand for her, earning a soft press of lips to his skin.

Sigh. Only one more day of weekend. "Zombie fort does sound kind of fun.”

She felt Steve laugh through his whole body, something about it more charming than it had any right to be. 

"I can hardly argue with that."

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [rojohbi](http://www.rojohbi.tumblr.com)


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